


Glory of the Past

by Cirilla9



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Blood and Gore, Debauchery, Dubious Morality, Historical Inaccuracy, Lions, Nazis, Partying, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: What can I say... a Roman Party





	Glory of the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClementineStarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/gifts).



> Inspired by Discord talks. This is based solely on nearly forgotten history lessons, movie adaptations and my own imagination. Forgive me any historical inaccuracies, I'm not the Fountain of Nazi Knowledge (someone else bears the title). I took so so many liberties with history I'm almost sorry for that. This is a wild mix of everything that came to my head.

This was not what John had expected.

John had expected a formal dinner, with seemingly noncommittal talk during which, however, one must pay close attention to what he’s saying so nobody could interpret it politically, against the current regime first of all. John had expected the atmosphere to be slightly less tense than in work due to everyone’s keeping appearances of enjoying the party, sipping expensive alcohol but still wearing uniforms and sitting in row behind a long table. John had expected proud swastikas and other German symbols hanging everywhere, adorning the halls, reminding them of their great purpose.

The second he entered, he understood the wives weren’t invited not due to the political dimension of the feast, the importance of the state secrets that might be spoken – no, they weren’t invited because of issues that lay entirely on a private ground.

John had not expected a party suiting more a Roman Emperor than a Reich Officer. John had not expected men lying on chaise-lounges, served by barely dressed women who fed them with grapes and wine flowing in streams. John had not expected Göring in a toga.  

Some, most of the company probably, had their official uniforms, although in a state of various undress, instead of neatly buttoned up to the collar. But the Roman Senator’s attire certainly caught the eye among the lot of them. The host reclined on a chair stylized at curule seat, albeit made far more comfortable, a substantial cup of wine swayed in his hands.

John took in all that surrounded him in mute astonishment, his eyes wide and his mind still struggling to grasp the meaning of this whole situation.

It felt unreal, as if they were moved back in time and places, all the way back to Ancient Rome.

In that moment the host approached them.

“Ah, Reinhard! You brought a friend,” Göring said jovially, eyeing John with a welcoming smile, perhaps too wide due to drank alcohol, as he was clearly indulged already, his face flushed.

“Yes, meet John Smith, our loyal American-” started Heydrich, his voice crisp and official.

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard of him,” cut him off the other man, barely sparing him a look before returning his attention to Obergruppenführer. “You seem surprised.” He addressed John directly. “The Roman Empire was a great and formidable institution. Then there was the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation, but surely you know our history. Our Reich is following that noble path in many fields. Why should we leave out the entertainment part? Personally I think it’d be a great waste. An offence, even, to the national heritage.”

“Will we see gladiators’ fight as well?” asked John, still shocked, overwhelmed a bit too much to think it might be taken as an affront.

But Göring only chuckled.

“I like that one,” he winked to Heydrich who looked far less pleased than their host, then turned to John once more. “Ruthless like a true Roman. You’d look marvelous in a toga.” At that he put his own sleeve, hanging in wide folds, to John’s chest. “The red suits you,” he assessed appreciatively.

John felt a hand fell on his shoulder and his astonished eyes slid from the modern Ancient Roman incarnation in front of him to Heydrich’s palm squeezing at his arm.

“I will show him some seat. You have other guests to greet no doubt.” He directed John away from Göring, not waiting for any verbal confirmation from the other man.

 

* * *

 

 

"Perhaps I should have warned you,” Heydrich was saying to John later, as they took seats at adjoined couches and the party went on. “But he doesn’t make such feasts always. I thought this one would be… more civilized.”

“These are the origins of our civilization, as our host mentioned.” John loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top buttons of the collar. He did his best to ignore all the nymphs and lesser goddesses around, Helen would never forgive him indulging in the pleasures they offered as the other officers did. But he could not turn his gaze off the debauchery that seem the intricate element of the banquet. It was impossible to ignore the naked bodies, dressed only in jewelry and expensive scents, from Vichy France no doubt, as they played the role between statues and entertainment, groping each other and rutting before the guests’ eyes.

John took a sip of wine one of the servant girls offered him earlier. He was careful as it was potent but it was cooled pleasantly in the too heated atmosphere, gave relief. Tiberius' debauchery on Capri couldn’t be much more decadent. Though John had not seen any sodomy yet. Perhaps it was not suiting to the dignity of the Reich. Or maybe it just happened behind the curtains.

There was a minute commotion in the center of the hall and John saw Göring holding up his cup of wine and asking for silence. Once the guests quieted enough so Göring could be heard in the whole room, he begun:

“Though I do not have gladiators as of yet to please our eyes with their struggles,” he raised a cup in John’s direction as if they were in cahoots. “But I do have another entertainment that was no stranger on the Colosseum ground to offer. Follow me, my dears.”

He marched out of the hall confidently, yet with aura of nobility and the curious crowd followed his example.

“Forgive me the walk but my pets aren’t keen on noise. At least not for such a long time as the party lasts.”

He led them all toward spacious gardens and the growls could be heard at the entrance hall already. John revised his opinion that nothing more from Göring could surprise him that day, after what he’d already witnessed as their host, with a mien of proud pater familias, showed them the pair of fully grown up lions. The beasts were kept behind the metal fence, pacing the cage anxiously.

“They’re a little nervous because it’s near their meal time, so please do not near the bars. We’ll feed them in a moment.”

Göring gave some instructions to his servants before addressing his public once more.

“Resistance fighters!” He announced and the murmurs that already broke up fell silent. “We’ve caught three of them and today we’ll punish them for fighting against the regime, show them the true power of the Reich! Give them the penalty they deserve!”

John felt sick as the prisoners were led to the bars from the other side of the fence and he realized what was about to happen.

The spectacle that played out before them was bloody, short and violent. The lions made quick job of defeating unarmed men. One fell just at the entry, from a powerful swap with a paw the size of human arm but ended with sharp claws. The other run a half circle before the second beast caught up on him, jumping with all the grace of a hunting cat, bringing down the man with accompaniment of the feline cry and the hair raising shouts of the human devoured alive.

John was horrified but in some odd sense captivated in the eternal fight between a predator and a prey, like any hunter would be. He glanced at Heydrich, who certainly seemed to enjoy the show. But the prey and predator roles were reversed, it was wrong to feed lions with men even if the system declared them the worse race and the lions were beautiful in their violence.

At any rate, John did not protest, did not speak his thoughts aloud. Because he wouldn’t defend those whom the ruling ideology called Untermenschen. No, John had far too much self-preservation instinct for that.

The third prisoner held a little longer. As the cats were occupied in their fresh preys, he tried climbing onto the fence, sliding off from smooth bars but never giving up. On the other side waited one of the servants, ready to push him off the way to deceptive freedom but Göring stopped him, seeing as the lions were taking interest in the only yet moving food.

They circled the man without haste, first hunger sated now, coming closer and closer with each round. The man turned over his shoulder, his face visibly panicked even from the distance, and clung to the bars with all his might.

It didn’t do him much favor as the lions begun to jump to him from the ground, claws tearing flesh and teeth piercing muscles. The man cried and shouted but finally dropped from the fence and the lions fell at him at once. The cries took up in intensity for a short moment, then quitted completely.

Blood seeped in the sand, the crowd of onlookers was silent, the only sound that filled the air was that of feasting regal beasts.

**Author's Note:**

> And no smut as you see, which I count as a flaw. But I hope this short something gives somebody else inspiration to write some more explicit stuff :D


End file.
